Wrong Number, Right Time
by Paceismyhero
Summary: Oneshot A/U future prompt fic for ShadowKitty22. Puck and Rachel are strangers until an accidental phone call, which leads to more. Rated M for language and medium to mild sexual content. Please read and review!


**Author's Note:** So I'm pretty sure this is AGAIN not exactly what ShadowKitty22 had in mind when she gave me the prompt, so I might owe her yet another one after I get through a couple of the last prompts I have to do. Regardless, this was super fun to write and managed to get me out of my writing funk, so I'm happy with it. It is something I've _**never **_done before, so I'd love to know what y'all think (good or bad). Thanks in advance!

* * *

><p>Puck exited the noisy bar with far more grace than he'd ever managed in this situation, grumbling to himself how much tomorrow was going to suck. It was his boy's birthday and he should be able to toss back handfuls of Jaggerbombs like the rest of his friends and stumble out of the bar somewhere around the time the sun was rising. Instead, he choked down a couple beers and a few shots and was now walking home even before most people were lining up at the nearby clubs. He thought being a music producer would be cool, but right then he felt like the biggest loser in New York; that was saying something considering he just passed a guy wearing bright pink heels and a tube top.<p>

Usually his job was awesome. He got to do exactly what he loved all day, and he got paid for it. The only way he thought that was going to happen in high school was if he entered the porn industry. But it turned out he was good at other things, and now he was an extremely sought-after producer in the industry. So sought-after that he had yet another appointment tomorrow with Satan herself. She was an extremely well known pop star (read: big bucks for him) who was also well known to be a major bitch. His day started bright and early tomorrow, likely just to sit in his office and wait for her majesty to show up three hours late. The actual work would take all day, not just because she was demanding and spent half the time complaining, but she wasn't that great of a singer. She had certain keys that she nailed, but it took a lot of work to make a whole song let alone a whole album.

Puck dug inside his jean pockets in search of his keys, feeling the jagged pieces of metal surrounded by a softer, more cloth-like material. He pulled out both items, grinning when he realized his keys were wrapped around the napkin some chick had written her phone number on. He'd totally forgot about her somewhere between shot two and three, but whatever-her-name-was might be _exactly_ what he needed to make the night not a total wash. He quickly unlocked the three latches keeping him outside his place, throwing the keys in the general direction of the nearby table while he locked the door back up. His cell phone was sitting on the kitchen counter where'd he had left it before heading to the bar, and he picked it up and dialed the numbers from the napkin.

"Didn't I just see you?"

He grinned at the woman's teasing voice. He loved when they tried not to be so eager. "You haven't seen me naked yet. And, trust me, you're missin' out, so whatdya say we change that?"

"I think Blaine would have something to say about that." She giggled lightly. "Nice try, Kurt."

"Name's Puck."

"Oh, sure. Like anyone would really be named _Puck_." She was teasing him again, but this time it didn't feel flirty. "Are you watching hockey with Finn? Is he apart of this?"

"Hockey season is over," Puck answered because it was the only thing he could think to say. What was going on? The broad had been all over him at the bar, and now she was like … wigging out on him. Why did he always attract the crazy ones? He probably gave Mike the normal, hot one. Fuck his life.

"Kurt?"

He heard the anxiety in her tone. "Is this the chick from the bar?"

She gasped. "Oh my gracious! You have the wrong number!"

Puck pulled back the phone, his eyes knitting together as he read that the call was lost. He walked back to the kitchen, holding up the napkin and checking the number against what he called. It looked right to him, so he pressed each number a little more deliberately and tried again. The phone rang five times before going to voicemail. The same voice from before echoed in his ear, and even though it was clearly the wrong girl, Puck couldn't help thinking this chick sounded hot. He waited for the beep, eliminating the confusion from his voice and replacing it with a much sultrier tone.

"Offer still stands, Rachel Berry."

* * *

><p>Rachel moved down the street like a hummingbird, passing whole groups of people in her haste to make up for lost time. Her phone was pressed tightly to her ear with her shoulder, one hand being used to hold up her purse while the other hand was digging inside the monstrosity for her tiny notebook. It was times like that one that made her curse Kurt and his stupid fashion sense. All she wanted to do was find the address she'd written down, not search for buried treasure.<p>

"Samantha?" She questioned after the woman's voice cut out suddenly. "Sam?"

Rachel stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, two people running into her and knocking the notebook she had just found onto the ground. She grumbled and bent down to pick it up, simultaneously scrolling through her recent calls list to call her agent back. Rachel had been so busy lately that she'd been a terrible client. Well, a terrible client if being an award-winning Broadway star who was currently preparing to create a mainstream album was considered _terrible_. She absently hit the most recent call before pressing the phone back to her ear, replacing her purse on her arm and catching up to the pace of the rest of the city.

"Go for Puck."

"Samantha?"

"S'cuse me?"

Rachel stopped in the middle of her walk again, this time everyone just fanning out perfectly that their rhythm wasn't even altered. "I believe I have called the wrong number."

"Or the right one, Rachel Berry."

She smiled in spite of herself, recognizing the voice as he clearly did, too. "It's wonderful to hear you are just as charming sober."

"And I was just thinkin' it was wonderful hearin' you, period." He paused for only a moment. "Cashin' in that rain check?"

"I don't even know you," she breathed, as if that was the _only_ reason she couldn't fathom accepting the man's impure invitation he'd left on her voicemail.

"We can change that. Where are ya?"

Rachel looked around, momentarily forgetting where she was and where she was going. She could only pay attention to the heat on her cheeks burning red, but she blamed it on the warm June sun. It had nothing to do with the husky voice of this stranger, or his brash but exhilarating behavior. She wasn't even sure why she was still talking to him. It was ridiculous.

"I'm sorry. I am on my way to the theater and I meant to call back my agent. I must go."

"Hey, wait." She did so only because of the urgency in his tone. "You called me. You can't just hang up."

Rachel bit her lip, her eyes shifting even as she continued toward her destination once more. "What do you want?"

"Getting warmer."

"Goodbye." She rolled her eyes when he stopped her again. Why was she listening to him? "Yes?"

"I'll let ya go if ya say it dirty."

"Pardon me?"

"I'm just gonna keep callin' till you do it, so let's go, Berry. Ask me what I want in a sexy voice."

"That is extremely inappropriate."

"What's the big deal? You're an actress, right? Act."

"I am the lead female in a Broadway musical," she defended quickly, though it didn't have much of an impact. She could still hear him waiting for her to comply with his wishes, and even though she could easily hang up and block his number she couldn't bring herself to do it. That would be losing, and Rachel Barbra Berry didn't lose. She'd never had, and she certainly wasn't going to start now because of some arrogant horndog. "Fine."

"Say it slowly."

"I know how to be sexy!"

He chuckled in response and Rachel blushed, her loud statement earning her more than one questioning glance from passersby. She was used to being in the spotlight and getting a lot of attention, but at that moment she wanted to crawl into a very dark hole and hide. Instead, she settled for ducking into a nearby alley, making sure to stay close to the main road for fear of muggers. She had enough mace to take out an army of thugs, but she was fairly certain she wouldn't be able to find it inside her bag in time. Stupid Kurt.

She licked her lips, dropping her voice to the appropriately low level. "Tell me what you want, stud."

Rachel hung up before he could answer, though his resulting moan was fairly obvious. She nearly jumped out of her skin when her phone started to ring, but she looked down and saw it was Samantha calling her back. A jolt of disappointment coursed through her, and Rachel frowned at the unexpected emotion. What did that mean?

* * *

><p>Puck hung up the phone, exhausted more than when he had picked it up an hour ago. Legit, he'd lived in New York since high school and his mother still hadn't figured out the time difference. It wouldn't have been so bad if she didn't use every tactic in her arsenal to suck the life out of him, but now it was eleven o'clock on a Wednesday and he was actually contemplating heading to bed early. He didn't even want to consider what his schedule would be like when she came to visit next month. Her <em>and<em> his little sister were coming, so it was going to be twice as much crazy.

With the phone still in his hands, he scrolled up on the contact list until he found her name. He smiled softly to himself before pressing onto the contact, expecting it to go to voicemail. She might have managed to whisper one hot as all fuck thing in his ear, but she definitely seemed like the type of chick who went to bed early after watching some stupid HGTV show. It rang four times and then, surprisingly, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey," he started off casually. Typically when you were going to ask a favor, it was a good idea not to piss off the person who you needed help from. "Were you asleep?"

"No," she answered, a smile in her voice. "I just got home from the theater." There was a pause where he could hear her moving through her apartment and he absently wondered what it looked liked (particularly the bedroom). "Is this the same Puck?"

"Ya know more than one?" He questioned comically. "I mean, weren't you the one who said it wasn't a real name?"

"It isn't a real name," she volleyed back without hesitation. "No mother would name her child that."

"Speaking of my mother," he sidestepped, "she's coming into town with my sister next month. What are the chances of you hookin' me up with some fancy-schmancy Broadway tickets?"

"What's your real name?"

He sighed into his response, "I'll tell ya what. You give me the tickets, and I'll tell ya my name. And no standing room only shit. I'm talkin' good seats."

"You honestly think that's a fair trade?" She scoffed.

"No," he grinned wickedly. "Gimmie your address, though, and I'm sure I can even the score."

She paused for a long moment and he wondered if he had finally worn her down. He was super tired but he'd totally go to wherever she lived if she gave him the green light; he didn't care if it was Brooklyn or even Maine. He could tell just from talking to her that she was hot, and if she was the shit in some musical or whatever that probably meant she was wicked flexible. Plus, she said she was the lead so that meant she had the lungs to inflate his ego to just the right size.

"I'm honestly so exhausted that I couldn't even tell you my name, let alone my address."

He shrugged to himself, bummed about the obvious cockblock but not quite done playing the game. "I know a great way to relax." She didn't respond, so he continued. "Are you in bed?"

"I do not have the energy to entertain your sexual advances this evening."

"Just go lie down, Berry, and put me on speaker phone," he ordered, smiling in satisfaction when he heard her huff and then shuffle through her apartment. He swore he heard her plop down onto her mattress, and he ignored the ache he felt to be next to her, on top of her. "Close your eyes."

"OK."

She breathed in and out deeply, and Puck felt himself mimicking her just to bring his voice from husky to soothing. "Take deep breaths, letting go of your shitty day. Just focus on my voice, listening to what I say."

Puck had never been so happy about fucking all those yoga chicks until that moment – well, all right, banging them had been pretty awesome, too. But this was different. He didn't even _know_ this chick, and yet he was already hard as a rock just _thinking_ about her lying in bed, listening to his every command. He could see her chest rising and falling with each breath, could see her long eyelashes spread across her high cheekbones. Her lips were slightly parted, and her long brown (she sounded brunette) hair was fanned across the pillow beneath her.

"Imagine I'm there, slowly running my fingers up and down your right arm, and then your left. Do you feel it?" She hummed in response and he exhaled a shaky breath, waiting a few moments so she could repeat the action. "Can you feel me moving to your chest and stomach, teasing the tight skin?"

"Yes," she hissed, some hesitance in her tone.

"Good." He let that feeling course through both of them before continuing on his virtual adventure. "Fondle your tits like it was me. Pinch your nipples and massage them, feeling my warm touch the whole time." She moaned softly and so did he. "You like that, babe?"

"Mmmmhmmm."

"You're so fuckin' hot." Puck fought the urge to stroke himself, instead focusing on her. "If I was there, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you. Touch yourself, baby, and pretend it's me. Start slow. Slide one finger across your sweet pussy. I wanna feel how wet you are." She whimpered into the phone. "You're soaked; I can tell. God, I wish I could use my tongue. I bet you taste so good. Like berries or some shit."

"Puck," she whined.

"Push two fingers inside yourself, babe. Make sure to keep one hand on your breast." She gasped into air, the receiver picking up her primitive noise. "Yeah, pump your fingers in and out, in and out. Use your thumb and swipe across your clit." She called out that time. "Fuck, you're so sexy. Keep doin' it. Faster." He heard her panting and he gripped the phone tighter. "I want you so bad. Say you want me."

"I-I want you."

He groaned loudly. He was seconds away from blowing his wad in his jeans and he knew she was close, too. "Let go, baby. Let me hear you come."

There was a stillness on the phone and he would have sworn she'd hung up if it wasn't quickly followed by a high-pitched gasp and then a slow, drawn out moan. It wasn't what he expected, but Puck legit thought he might have died and went to heaven. "Feel better?"

Her breath was ragged, but she managed to squeak out, "You never told me your real name."

"Would you have called it out otherwise?" He joked roughly, finally relenting after her deafening silence. "It's Noah."

Rachel hummed dreamily. "Good night, Noah."

"Night, Berry."

Puck pressed end on his phone, collapsing back onto the couch cushions heavily. He was going to have to take a cold shower to deal with the problem she'd created, but first he wanted to think back and remember every little detail. He wished he had visual cues to work off of, but he wouldn't trade her verbal ones for anything. No other chick had gotten him so revved up by just her voice, but Puck just kept wanting more. That had _never_ been the case before, so it was even crazier that she was a stranger.

* * *

><p>Rachel tilted her head as far back as it would go, a wide smile on her face when she recognized the face that went along with the hand that had been placed on her shoulder. She scrambled up from the plush couch, swinging around the arm to envelope Finn in a sloppy hug. She squeezed him as tightly as she could, keeping a firm grip on him (or maybe it was the other way around) as she pulled back. She forced her eyes to focus, licking her lips before she spoke.<p>

"This was such a great party, Finn!"

He laughed at her enthusiasm, tightening his hold when she teetered slightly. "Yea, it was fun."

"Kurt had a good time." She maneuvered her head so her gaze went past the tall man in her grips, landing on her best friend. "Didn't he?"

"Totally."

She beamed. "And no one mentioned his age all night."

"Until now, thank you very much," Kurt muttered, taking the seat Rachel had vacated. "And the birthday cake with thirty trick candles wasn't exactly inconspicuous."

Rachel giggled. "That was Finn."

"Not huh!" Finn shook his head, securing Rachel with one arm while the other lifted to point to Blaine, Kurt's partner. "It was his idea!"

Kurt looked accusingly at Blaine, who just shrugged with a smile, finishing up his beer before adding it to the last bag of garbage that needed to be taken out. "I suppose it is better to double-crossed on my birthday by my husband than not to have a husband at all."

"Dude, I don't think that's the saying."

"Tis better to have loved and lost than to have not loved at all," Rachel waxed poetically.

"Yeah, that's it."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "It makes sense that you would know that considering how many times you and Quinn have broken up, but Rachel? Please."

"I beg your pardon?" Rachel questioned, turning in Finn's hold to look at Kurt more pointedly. "What precisely do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," Blaine answered for Kurt, looking at his partner with a stern expression.

"Not nothing," Kurt ignored the two men in the room staring at him like he'd just kicked a puppy during a parade. "It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to." His eyes settled back on Rachel. "I'm practically dead now, so I can say these things to the younger generation. Rachel, honey, you can't marry the theater."

Rachel blinked once, tilting her head back to evaluate Finn's expression. She could really just see his jaw line and one eye, but she saw the sympathy in his gaze. Did he pity her? They'd dated in high school (a few times) and stayed friends afterward, and she really thought he understood her better than to feel bad that she hadn't settled down with someone. She lived for music, and she didn't feel like she had given anything up by pursuing her career instead of men. She always believed that if it were meant to happen, then it would.

"Not everyone needs to be married to be happy."

"But you don't even date anymore," he reasoned. "Have you even _talked_ to a guy outside of work?"

"Yes!" She answered quickly, finally wiggling out of Finn's grip and fumbling down to the couch next to Kurt. She bit her lip, feeling the blush rise on her cheeks. "I talked to that unnamed caller just a couple of nights ago." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "It was quite scandalous."

"You think eating dairy is scandalous," Kurt muttered, rolling his eyes.

Rachel's mouth gaped open, her eyes moving to Finn and then to Blaine, neither coming to her defense. She huffed out a breath and stood, moving across the room with as much strength as she could muster given her drunken state. She yanked her purse out of the closet she'd placed it in earlier and rummaged inside for her cell phone. Once she found the small mobile device, she lifted it up proudly in presentation, walking back to the couch.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling him."

"It's kinda late, Rach."

She frowned at Finn's words, noting the time and knowing he was right. That didn't mean she was going to just give up, though. "Fine, I'll text him."

"Rachel …"

"No, please." Kurt lifted his hand up from its crossed position, stopping Blaine from talking sense into Rachel. "This might be the best birthday present I get."

"You're a terrible friend," Blaine muttered. "Letting her drunk text some guy she doesn't even know."

"I'm not drunk," Rachel clarified, her gaze hazy as she found his name in her contact list. "And I'll prove just how _wrong_ you are, Kurt."

Rachel turned the phone horizontal and fired off a quick message, one that she was sure would earn his attention not to mention the respect of those in the room. She hit send without a hint of reluctance, smiling in satisfaction when the green bar reached the end and signaled the message had sent. Then she moved the phone vertically again and held it out toward Kurt and Blaine so they could read what she wrote.

"Rachel!" The both exclaimed at the same time, looking at her in horror.

"What?" Finn questioned loudly, eagerly moving closer until she held out the phone toward him. "Holy hell!"

"It's true," she defended innocently. "I don't."

"I know, but …"

"Ew." Kurt interrupted Finn, pretending to gag. "Please. I do _not _want to hear about my stepbrother knowing that my best friend has no gag reflex."

Rachel rolled her eyes, shrugging emptily at Finn. Despite the years of separation not to mention added maturity, her ex-boyfriend refused to look her in the eye then and she couldn't help but laugh. Her amusement quickly died out, however, when her phone chirped with a new message. Kurt, Blaine and Finn all moved in closer, and Rachel scoffed in disbelief before getting up and walking away from the group. She pulled her phone closer and opened the file quickly, her eyes scanning the words.

_U just made my nite_

She blushed at the sentiment, however un-romantic it was meant. Ever since that night a few days ago, Rachel hadn't stopped thinking about Noah/Puck. She had woken up the next morning embarrassed by her behavior, but she didn't regret it in the least. He had a strange pull over her, and she wondered if it was healthy to be so infatuated with someone she'd never met. Then again, she didn't want to meet him because she imagined his power over her would only be stronger if she was actually able to touch her (and visa versa). Playing it safe, she responded innocently.

_Bad night?_

Not even a minute passed before she got her response.

_Still work if that tells ya anything._

She responded equally fast.

_Sorry :(_

_Call me l8er & make it up to me_

Rachel blushed, looking up from the screen of her phone to see six curious eyes on her. She settled for staring at Kurt, thinking back to what he'd said earlier. Not just the silent disbelief that she could be anything other than entirely pure, but also the notion that she was a workaholic. She loved the theater, yes, and it was her passion in life, but that didn't mean she didn't have other passions. She was a woman, after all, and Puck brought out a side of her that was both exhilarating and powerful. Rachel believed herself to be an attractive person, often referred to as being cute or adorable; but with Puck she felt sexy, desirable. Different.

_Mkay _

* * *

><p>Puck set aside the cue stick, leaning back in the hard wooden chair and taking his bottle of beer with him. He held the bottle by the neck and tipped it back, swallowing the remaining liquid in two large gulps before tossing the empty glass across the room into the recycle bin. It landed with a loud crash, Sam scowling at him from his position at the head of the pool table. They'd waited all night for one of the tables to open, and now Puck had to wait for them to finish their game before taking winner. The longer the better, really, because if either of them had much more to drink Puck could convince them to play for money and make a killing.<p>

"I'm gonna go get another. Want one?"

Mike and Sam nodded in response, too caught up in the game to answer verbally. Puck made his way through the busy bar, ordering three beers from the blonde bartender. She winked at him when she returned and told him they were on the house, and he thanked her before going back to the back. When he returned, neither Sam nor Mike was playing the game. Instead they were both just staring at him wide-eyed.

"What?"

"That girl is eye-fucking the shit out of you," Sam stated bluntly, accepting the beer extended toward him.

"So?"

"So?" Mike questioned, his confusion evident. "Are you sick?"

"Nah," Puck shrugged, reclaiming his seat by the dartboard. "She's … I dunno. Whatever."

"Been there, done that?" Mike asked comically, returning much of his focus back to the game.

"Somethin' like that." Puck shrugged, not really having an answer for why the slutty bartender didn't interest him. Or at least he didn't have an answer he liked, the only excuse being that his mind had been clogged with images of an unknown face with the voice like an angel. She called him back like promised last weekend, and even though it did end with him jerking off to the memory of her coming undone, the conversation had been mostly innocent. She asked about his day and before he knew it he was venting to her about the stupid rock band that had shown up hammered to their studio session and yelled at him for it before passing out and then waking up six hours later demanding they finish what they came to do in the first place. Her reassurance had been oddly settling, and then they ended up talking about why she was up so late, which led to her talking about her friends and her job, and before he knew it the sun was coming up.

"Look, Mikey. Our little boy is finally growing up," Sam joked, taking another shot and missing terribly.

"Fuck off."

They chuckled at his defensive response, which just further pissed him off. Puck grabbed his beer and claimed to need some air, walking out the side door into alley. He gripped the beer bottle and clenched his other hand into a fist, trying desperately to resist the immediate urge he felt to call her. He knew she'd be able to ease his mind, but that shit was crazy. A chick who was a friend? That couldn't be right because he wanted to plow her into the ground. But he didn't even know her, though, so he was just stuck in this limbo area that fucking sucked balls.

With his phone in his hand, he busied himself instead with trying to find out what she looked like. He'd dicked around on the Internet enough in his life that it didn't take him long to find some pictures of her, though he had to admit it hadn't been particularly easy. Apparently the lead in a Broadway musical doesn't bring you to the level where the paparazzi followed you around all day. All the pictures he found were promotional shots from her musical, and a couple of fan photos that were dark and blurry of her actually on stage. And even though he could tell she was attractive, the pictures weren't doing her voice justice.

So he called her.

"Hello?" She answered, her greeting rushed even for just one word.

"What's with the squeaky clean image, Berry?"

"Excuse me?" She asked, more amusement in her tone than urgency.

"I was just lookin' ya up online. No sex tape, no TMZ nipple shot." He grinned. "Ya expect to get famous off your talent or some shit?"

"I don't need to be famous. My career is fulfilling enough, thank you." He rolled his eyes at her answer. He didn't know her, but he could tell she lived for the attention. "And while I appreciate your advice, I already have an agent."

"He's a hack."

"It's a woman."

"Feminist." He smiled at her resulting laughter. "No wonder you don't have any sexy pictures for the public."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Noah."

"I didn't say that." He shrugged even though she couldn't see him. "I like what I saw. I just wanna see more."

"Typical," she muttered, earning a chuckle from him. "But unfortunately I'm going to have to refuse if only because I'm due on stage in precisely twenty minutes."

"It don't take long to snap a pic, Berry. Just get undressed and …"

"Good night, Noah."

Puck laughed as the line went dead, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. He finished his beer and threw the bottle away on his way back inside. Sam and Mike were finishing up their game, Mike sinking the eight ball with a satisfied grin on his face. Sam frowned, but perked up when he noticed Puck walking back in.

"All better?"

Puck opened his mouth to respond, but then felt his phone vibrate in his jeans. He sighed figuring it was work, digging out the small electronic device and opening the new message. Grinning as the picture started to load, he made sure neither Sam nor Mike could see the image and evaluated it with a bias eye. She wasn't naked, but it was almost better. And it was mostly because the clothes didn't even matter. It was the wind-blown hair, the tan skin, the smoky fuck-me eyes and the lopsided smile. And, of course, the death threat at the bottom should he release the photo to anyone.

He still didn't know her, but he sure liked her.

"Much," he finally answered, accepting to cue stick so he could start his game with Mike.

* * *

><p>Rachel waited impatiently while her agent listened to the new song she'd penned a few nights ago. It was titled <em>Familiar Stranger<em> and was a big step in a completely different direction than most of her other stuff. To be honest she was a little nervous about Samantha's reception to it, which was unusual for Rachel; she was normally so sure of herself, so confident. But this song, much like the feelings that were associated with it, was new and terrifying.

"I …" Samantha trailed off immediately, shaking her head. "Just when I think I know what the next step with you is going to be, you have to go and change _that_, too."

Rachel smiled graciously, exhaling in relief. "So you liked it?"

"Of course I liked it." Samantha rolled her eyes. "But it doesn't exactly fit the other songs you've already created." She didn't even pause before pushing a folder across the coffee table separating them toward Rachel. "Luckily I compiled a list of the best music producers in the city. I know you said you didn't need outside help, but they might be able to find a way for the album to flow better so you don't waste all the work you've already done."

Rachel grumbled as she opened the folder, not liking this turn of events. She'd been the reason for her success thus far and Rachel had every intention of keeping it that way. Until, of course, she scanned the list of names and saw none other than _Noah Puckerman_ near the end. A soft smile emerged on her face, realizing where his nickname originated.

"What's with the face?"

"What?" Rachel looked up, a little dazed. "Oh, nothing." She shrugged emptily. "You're right. I think some expertise might be needed now."

"Excuse me?" Samantha beamed. "Did you just say I was right?"

Rachel rolled her eyes, closing the folder. "Don't get used to it." She winked at her agent, placing the folder inside her bag while standing up. The two shared a hug before Rachel left the office, heading straight home despite the fact that she was supposed to go to the market and the dry cleaners. Instead, she walked home and logged onto her computer, searching the Internet for a site dedicated to Noah's business. When she found it – styled in a chic black with a hard font – she instantly clicked on the page of employees and scrolled until she found his picture. And even though she hadn't seen him before, she recognized him instantly, the name and description to the left just verifying it.

Absently she reached into the bag she'd set by her feet and grabbed her phone. It was early afternoon on a Monday, which meant he was probably working, but Rachel called anyway. As the phone rung she considered what she'd say when it went to voicemail, but then those plans were ruined when his beautiful voice echoed in her ear – his standard greeting not even causing her to roll her eyes anymore.

"Nice Mohawk," she teased immediately, biting her lip to keep her smile from widening even more. "Do you have the cliché barbed wire tattoo to match?"

"On my right bicep," he answered with a smirk in his voice. "It bleeds a few guitar chords."

"You play the guitar?"

"Among other things." She could hear the next part in his tone even before he said it. "I'm really good with my hands." She giggled anyway, only his attitude able to pull off something so innately vulgar. "What about you? Got any tats hiding on that olive skin of yours?"

"Nine."

"Nine?" He coughed into the question. "That shit's hot, Berry."

"Thanks?" She pretended not to be set on fire by just his simple statement.

"I wanna find 'em all – with my tongue." Rachel breathed harshly into the receiver, thinking about the tiny heart tattoo she had on her thigh and Noah's tongue grazing it. She shuddered. "So, you looked me up, huh?"

She inhaled a deep breath, trying to get a hold of her emotions. "I wanted to put a face to a name."

"Ya could put more than a face if ya just tell me where you're at."

Rachel smiled only because she heard the desperation in his tone, which was something new. Usually his insinuations were covered in a lot more bravado, more swagger. This felt real; she liked it. "It sounds good in theory, but I'm fairly certain I wouldn't hear from you ever again afterward."

"Nah."

It was such a quick response, almost like a reflex, which made Rachel skeptical. While she could understand their lust for one another hypothetically living in the same vicinity of desperation, Rachel was under no illusions that Puck had lost sleep over her. She didn't know him, but she could tell he was the type of guy who often didn't give girls a second thought. And despite his crude commentary and inappropriate demands, Rachel enjoyed talking to him. He was like a secret friend (who she secretly wished wasn't so secret).

"Really?"

"I figure if I ain't sick of ya yet, then I ain't ever gonna be."

Rachel ducked her chin to her chest, hiding her soft smile from no one. "While I appreciate your honesty, my answer is still no."

"Yea, I figured." He sounded disappointed, and while it made her frown she almost felt happy, too. "Later, B."

She pressed the end call button on her phone quickly just so she could scroll through her contact list and find Samantha's name. She double clicked on the name, the screen instantly changing to a forwarding call. It rang four times before the voicemail kicked in, and Rachel left a simple message. She just needed Samantha to set up the earliest appointment for a studio session with Noah Puckerman.

* * *

><p>Puck stormed out of his boss's office, entering his own just to slam the door shut in frustration. He growled just to release some of the built up tension, his hands pressing tightly against the side of his head. When he opened his eyes and saw his co-worker and friend Santana sitting in his chair, he sighed and let him hands drop to his side.<p>

"What are you doing here?"

"Heard about the new client." If she weren't a girl, Puck would have punched her square in the face for the stupid satisfied smirk that curled onto her lips. "Sucks to be you."

"I'll trade ya."

"Hells no." Santana shook her head, her eyes focused on her newly manicured fingernails. "I'm all the snobby bitch I can handle."

"You and me both," Puck groaned, opting for the leather chair that sat across from his desk. "Phil said the chick demanded some thirty minute meet-and-greet alone with me."

"Sounds like she's heard about your reputation."

Puck laughed in spite of himself, shaking his head while he let out a long breath. "I don't think I'm that lucky."

"The way Sam tells it, you haven't been _that_ lucky in awhile."

"You guys legit need to find somethin' better to talk about than me when you ain't screwin'."

Santana just shrugged, exiting the room without another word. Puck remained in the soft seat intended for guests, his head falling back and his eyes shutting for a few seconds. He thought about going around and asking Ricky or one of the other guys to trade clients with him, but he knew it was no use. The chick had picked him and Phil would have his balls on a platter if he cost them _another_ high-end account. The first one hadn't been his fault; that broad had agreed to keep it casual before she found out he was also sleeping with her sister. Now he only had a few minutes to spare before his day would be totally shot, so he pulled out his phone and clicked onto the text-messaging screen to find a way to make it better.

_What r u wearin?_

He'd talked to Rachel a few times since last week, but it hadn't felt like enough. In fact, more and more their conversations hadn't seemed to fulfill him, which was saying something considering the totally hot call Saturday night after she'd gotten off of work. He was pretty sure she was drunk, but he didn't care; he'd foot the tab every single time if it meant she talked as dirty as she had that night.

_Open your door and find out._

Puck stared at the message for a few seconds, reading it over and over to try to figure out its hidden meaning. Slowly, his head turned back to look over his shoulder, his eyes focused on the closed office door. He furrowed his brows, looked down at the phone again, and then stood up. He tossed his phone onto his desk, taking purposeful steps toward the front of his office. He reached out to grab the door handle and then turned it all the way before swinging open the door. His breath caught in his throat when his eyes landed on hers, hers twinkling with mischief while his likely looked closer to a deer in headlights.

She twirled slowly in presentation, bringing his mind back to the question he had posed and the million others he had since they first "met". She wore a simple wrap dress, but it hugged her body in all the right places. Plus, he could tell it was only being held together by one small bow, and he liked those kinds of odds. Similarly, he'd already found three of her nine tattoos just from raking his eyes over her body, and his tongue watered at the realization that he still had two-thirds left to find as he'd originally intended.

"Oh." Puck didn't move his eyes from Rachel, but he raised his eyebrows in recognition of another voice. "I see you've already met."

"Yes," Rachel answered, her eyes also not leaving Puck's. "Now we just need that private room."

A blush crept up onto her cheeks and Puck bit back a moan at seeing the coloring with his own eyes. She was the client. She was the one who had set up the appointment specifically with him, and she was the one who demanded thirty minutes for them to get to know each other. He grinned as he placed his hand on her lower back, pressing gently as his other hand gestured down the hallway.

"I got this, Phil."

Puck moved through the building with practiced ease, turning corner after corner until he hit a seldom-used corridor. He pushed open the first door in the row of open studio rooms, following Rachel inside the dark room. He didn't even bother to turn on the light, immediately pinning her against the hard surface of the door. He crashed his lips against hers, pressing against her a little rougher than needed when she whimpered at the sudden contact. He was half hard just seeing her and the words playing inside his head from the weeks they'd talked weren't making the situation any easier to control.

He moved his hand to turn the deadbolt on the door and then let his fingers tangle in the long strands of her chocolate hair. He pulled on the silky smooth ends when Rachel bit his lip lightly, catapulting him from want to need. Her mouth ripped from his as her head tilted back, his lips gliding over her jaw to her neck. He could feel her breath hot against his ear and he went from half hard to harder than he'd ever been in his entire life just from the quiet moan that reverberated through him.

"Noah," she whined, her hands clutching at his loose T-shirt.

"Shut it, B. I only got thirty minutes thanks to you."

She giggled into his next assault, trying desperately to push him away even though there wasn't much force in the motion. "Noah, wait."

Puck groaned and pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, holding his breath (as best he could considering he'd just used most of his oxygen suctioning his lips to her skin) at what she might say. She'd been the one to initiate this whole thing, so she couldn't back down. Not just because he _knew_ she felt the same way her did, but because … well, it would fucking suck balls. And his were blue at the moment, legit hoping this girl was the one he'd been holding out for lately. Good news, fellas. She was.

"Are these rooms soundproof?"

Puck chuckled, fusing his mouth back to hers and mumbling against them, "You bet your sweet ass they are."


End file.
